


Ruakh

by seashadows



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Burns, Gandalf is very very sneaky, Gandalf the Matchmaker, Gen, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the whole, for a man who had to be seventy or more, Grindal Grey had been remarkably cooperative as Bill applied silver sulfadiazine and paraffin gauze to the second-degree burns on his backside, but perhaps he realized that he’d gotten himself into this whole mess and had best shut up if he knew what was good for him.</p><p>(Sons of Jerusalem 'verse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruakh

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of reaching 5000 hits on Sons of Jerusalem (!!!!!), I wrote this as a thank-you to all of you kind readers. Wikdsushi prompted me to write something about Bill's day before he meets Theo. 
> 
> The title is a Hebrew word that means both "wind" and "spirit," as in sass or vivacity. I thought it suited both Bill and his patient. 
> 
> William Grindal was Elizabeth I's tutor in her youth, a scholar who never quite made it big (thank you, Wikipedia). Seems appropriate for Gandalf.

“That’s you done, I think,” Bill said, and taped down the last of the bandages on his patient’s posterior. On the whole, for a man who had to be seventy or more, Grindal Grey had been remarkably cooperative as Bill applied silver sulfadiazine and paraffin gauze to the second-degree burns on his backside, but perhaps he realized that he’d gotten himself into this whole mess and had best shut up if he knew what was good for him. “You can pull your trousers back up.”

Grey did as he was told, wriggling into his loose grey pants and sitting back up on the exam table. “Thank you, my boy,” he said. “This is a fine standard of care, I must say.” His accent had surprised Bill when he’d first come in, nearly as much as his cavalier demeanor over the oozing blisters that had to be causing him considerable pain. There were few enough British people in Massachusetts, and Grey’s accent was far posher than Bill’s own.

Bill folded his arms. “I try.” He gave Grey his best nurse look. It usually had the effect of scaring uncooperative patients into compliance and had taken years to perfect. “Now I’ve got to ask, what on Earth were you thinking, experimenting with homemade fireworks? You could have been far more seriously injured. I hope you know how lucky you are.”

“Oh, I’ve been making them longer than you’ve been alive.” Grey’s eyes twinkled and he stroked his long beard, which had made Bill mistake him for a homeless patient until he whipped out his insurance card. “No need to worry. There will be no long nights of surgery from me, never fear. You can go home to your wife on time.”

Well, that was a bit of a loaded statement. “Husband, actually,” Bill snapped, “or that’s what I’d have if I had one.” His record for professional behavior was spotless. If this old bloke was prejudiced against gay people, well, he could afford the black mark in his file if it meant sticking it to him. He nevertheless looked out the window of the little exam room to make sure no one was nearby.

But Grey didn’t look offended. In fact, he seemed delighted. “Ah!” He clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. “Of course, of course. Do forgive me. A single man, pardon my mistake. Do you often have your evenings free, then?”

“Too many,” Bill muttered, and stacked the spare paraffin dressings in a neat pile. “You’ll want to be changing your dressings every few hours. If you’ve got pain, Neosporin will do.”

The old man held up a finger. “Please let me make amends. I’ve the perfect suggestion for a place to spend your Friday evening. How familiar are you with the Jewish community here?”

Little enough, embarrassingly so. Bill knew that there were plenty of Jewish people in the Boston area, but apart from the occasional Orthodox patient who needed special care, he’d never made an effort to reach out to them. More was the pity; he needed to be more multicultural. “Some.”

“Then you’ll want the Hillel on Waltham Street,” said Grey. There was something in his expression that was too sly for Bill’s liking, but he couldn’t think of what. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s a Hillel, exactly?” Bill asked. The word was only slightly familiar.

“An interactive museum,” Grey answered. “It’s a good education on Jewish culture, and they have excellent food. The mock services and supper open about seven, I believe.”

Normally, Bill would have been loath to take advice from this sort of man, meddler as he seemed to be. But his weekend was shamefully open - Monique planned to take her boys out to the zoo on Saturday, and Sunday was just another work day. He’d likely spend tonight staring at the television and masturbating, anyway. “I get off shift at seven,” he said. “They won’t mind if I’m a bit late, will they?”

“Not at all.” Grey waved a hand. “I suppose I’ll be leaving now. Thank you for your kindness, Nurse Baggins. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

With fireworks in the hands of a loose cannon? Somehow, Bill doubted it. “Do your best,” he said instead of calling Grey out. “Remember what I said about the dressings, and enjoy the rest of your day.”

“I will.” Grey stood up to his full, towering height, six and a half feet at least. Bill made a note to get the blood samples he’d taken tested for any products of tissue breakdown, just in case there was a genetic disease. No one that old had a right to be so tall without problems. “Enjoy your evening.” And in a manner that suggested he should have been wearing wizard’s robes or something similar, he swept out of the room.


End file.
